


Gripped

by viridianquills



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Bathroom Sex, M/M, Pole Dancing, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 08:11:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16091582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridianquills/pseuds/viridianquills
Summary: He’s all lithe muscle on a slender frame and the way those thighs clench the pole— Kid swallows a little thicker, mind wandering to how tightly that body could clench around him, and thinks that maybe Killer was right after all when he said this show would be good.Poledancer!Law, Kid gets dragged out for his birthday and ends up enjoying the show more than he thought he would.





	Gripped

**Author's Note:**

> I'M LIKE THOUSANDS OF YEARS LATE BUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY LULU!!!!!!!! this is porny as heck so if you want something softer hmuuuuuu

_"You’ll enjoy it,”_ Killer said. _“It’ll be worth it,”_ Killer said. _“We just want to do something for you,”_ Killer said.

Fuckin’ ridiculous.

Kid doesn’t see the point to it. It’s his birthday in the first place, he can do whatever he wants. Or doesn’t want. Or at least, that’s how it _should_ work. Instead, half his friends ganged up together all at once to bully him into going out for a “celebration,” which is apparently fancy-talk for “we’re dropping you off at a strip club you looked at once three months ago.”

No amount of snarling had done anything to dissuade them; considering how long he’s known Killer, he probably should have figured the man would be utterly immune. That’s why he’s stuck here, mostly, Killer’s _“just trust me”_ too much to ignore. Eustass Kid is many things— asshole ranking top in his reputation— but he’s trusted Killer’s guidance for years and he’s not going to stop now all of the sudden.

He’s still not having a good time, though.

It’s not that he doesn’t love seeing people naked, but what’s the fun in it when he doesn’t get to touch them? Looking at pretty things on a stage isn’t half as good as actually getting up and into it. Intimacy is a cheap, flimsy thing, but a good fuck is a good fuck and the pole dancers are usually off limits which is why he’d looked around but never come. It's far easier to find a quick hookup at a regular bar rather than dealing with the types here. Half of them want to show off with their money and the other half are leaning halfway out their chairs just to brush against some skin as they stuff cash in the dancer’s waistband, a kind of desperation that tells Kid they’d last all of two minutes in bed. He’s not looking for _that_ quick of a lay.

For once, he thinks Killer was just out of his fucking mind. They could have just bought him someone for the night, or taken him to one of his favorite bars where the people actually know how to have a good time. He hasn’t seen anyone interesting here yet at all, dancers included, and unsurprisingly he hasn’t been approached by anyone either, his sour mood making him look even less inviting than usual.

The stage music shifts to something fast and almost jazzy while he’s lost in his grumblings— Kid’s no good with music genres, just knows it’s unusual. He can’t bring himself to give much of a shit about the music, knocking back the rest of his drink. At least his friends had the decency to shove a sizeable wad of cash at him, a collaborative birthday gift that he absolutely plans to blow on alcohol tonight. The bar here is decent, if nothing else.

 _“Our star guest tonight is a real treat_ — _he makes house calls when he pleases, with moves skilled enough to ensure you’ll be a satisfied customer. Get ready for the Dark Doctor, Reaper!”_

The crowd practically erupts in cheering and wolf-whistles, leaving Kid agitated at the sudden noise. “Must be a popular bitch,” Kid mutters under his breath, signalling the bartender for another drink. He hopes this show will be a little more entertaining and _oh—_

He’s not disappointed.

 _Reaper_ stalks out like he owns the stage, the building and all the land it was built on, outfit surprisingly casual compared to the glittery threadbare outfits the previous performers favoured. Flaunting spotted booty shorts that hug his ass well, sleek black heels that resonate against the stage floor as he walks and a zippered hoodie that his hands are stuffed into, his posture is almost smugly relaxed. He isn’t dressed the part at all, but he’s more stunning than the last three combined and the crowd roars for him. He walks right up to the pole without hesitation, one hand withdrawing from his pocket to grip it as he lets his weight fall forward, momentum spinning him around.

Kid doesn’t even see his other hand move, but he’s off the ground, giving another twirl before he simply rests on the pole, gripping it between his bare thighs with practiced ease a few feet off the ground. The dancer makes a show of surveying the crowd, giving the barest hint of a smile and a small nod. Kid can almost hear the arrogance— _“I suppose this will do”_ spoken with silent actions before his hands are back on the pole and he’s twisting again, nearly acrobatic.

His hoodie comes undone, somehow, a sleight of hand lost in the blurred motions. Jeers of _“Take it off!”_ only make him toy with the zipper, teasing the audience with the thought of covering back up. It sits limply at the crook of his elbows as he arches his back into a pose instead, exposing a slender inked chest, wispy heart design spanning the width of it. There’s matching hearts on either shoulder, curled designs in thick black ink and Kid thinks the stage lights aren’t doing them justice, casting glare.

Then the hoodie is gone entirely and the man is standing, stretching, running his tattooed hands slowly down his torso and catching his thumbs in the hem of his shorts. The bulge there is probably fake, Kid tells himself, but he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to tear off those shorts and find out, sitting up straighter in his seat for a better view of the show. The stage is littered with cash already and Reaper is positively revelling in it, the stage so obviously his throne.

He walks towards the edge of the stage with all the prowling grace of a predator, close enough for hands to reach and touch, several readily stuffing cash into his tight waistband for just the chance to touch his tanned skin and tug the shorts down a few precious inches before he struts away, plucking bills and pocketing them with a catlike grin as he makes a show of grinding his ass against the pole.

The button and fly of his shorts get undone to provide a teasing view of obviously silk panties— and isn’t that a lovely addition— and the performer cups his own ass, biting his lip at the squeeze before bringing his hands back up to splay over his body. It feels like an examination, Reaper bending at the waist to drag his hands up long slender legs, following all the way up to the curve of his neck and stopping with his fingers at his lips.

Guiding everyone’s eyes exactly where he wants them, Kid dimly realizes, conducting the show at exactly the pace he wants. Reaper licks a stripe clean up one finger, toying with his plump lips teasingly before he finally works his shorts off, leaving him in nothing but his heels and those opaque black panties. They leave just a little to the imagination, just enough— Kid’s eyes are drawn to the tattoo on the man’s left thigh, dark spots mimicking the ones on his shorts. Almost like a garter belt and _oh,_ he’d look _good_ in stockings.

Kid has barely blinked by the time Reaper resumes his pole dancing, realizing he’s nearly leaned himself out of his seat trying to get a better view. No point trying to deny his interest— this one is _definitely_ his type.

He looks like the kind of brat Kid would love to fuck senseless; the kind he would love to push to the edge just to get to watch that smug expression contort into something desperate and wanting. He knows he’s falling for an obvious act but the man has talent, moving fluidly as if held by wires, unabashedly grinding his ass and crotch against the silver metal pole.

Kid is less certain that the bulge is fake, and all the more hungry to find out.

His second drink is long gone and replaced with a third by the time Reaper returns to his starting position, pole firmly between his thighs as he rests off the ground as if he’s weightless. His thumbs are hooked into either side of his panties, shifted down just far enough to see a teasing patch of curly black hair visible, dyed nearly blue under show lights.

Reaper’s gleam is an uncanny silver as he scans the crowd, evidently satisfied with his performance, his image. And why wouldn’t he be? He’s all lithe muscle on a slender frame and the way those thighs clench the pole— Kid swallows a little thicker, mind wandering to how tightly that body could clench around him, and thinks that maybe Killer was right after all when he said this show would be good.

The night’ll have to end a lot better than this for him to ever admit it, though.

Kid is four drinks down by the time the show is over, lidded eyes tracking Reaper’s firm ass until it’s out of view backstage. “Shame,” Kid mumbles under his breath. He should have sat in the front and tried to catch his attention, but then, he doesn’t know the lineup here anyway, doesn’t know if the Reaper does private shows. Though at this point he may have settled just for a public lapdance; there’s something to be said for lusty eyes in the room all wanting what you have.

As it is, his expression soon turns bored again, debating on a fifth drink. He’s only halfway to being drunk with his tolerance and it’s a boring medium; enough to tamp down his temper and agitation but nowhere near _enough._ If he wants to leave he may as well now, or if he wants a decent lay he’ll need to be hammered enough to settle. There never is anyone worth fucking in these crowds, save for—

“My my, you didn’t look so bored during my performance. Miss me already?”

Kid nearly gives himself whiplash, swivelling on the stool to see the star dancer sitting beside him. Maybe he’s more drunk than he thought; he didn’t even notice. “The hell are you doing out here?” he blurts, sizing him up. He’s dressed back in the outfit he started with, covering up all but his hand tattoos; Kid still can’t make out the letters in the dim club lights. “Not that I ain’t happy to get a closer view.”

“Just doing my job,” Reaper drawls, looking amused as he leans on the bar. “You seemed like you’d be worth it.”

 _“Making a house call when you please,_ huh?” Kid snorts. Those grey eyes are still striking, all the more so up close. “Coming all the way over here just for me, I’m touched. I ain’t even your usual crowd.”

“That’s precisely why you caught my eye,” Reaper smiles, the lazy quirk of his lips bordering on a smirk. “If you were the usual crowd, I wouldn’t be interested. I like a little variety, and I trust my instincts. Would you tell me I’m wrong?”

Self-assured asshole. Kid is _thrilled._

“Depends on if you’re as interesting as your performance,” Kid grins in return, all teeth and feral interest. The dancer’s got the body for his job but he’s lacking the typical makeup-exaggerated abs and overly defined biceps. Everything about him is sleek, muscles firm without bulging, abs softly visible. Natural.

Everything about him, Kid thinks, seems natural, and that’s just hilarious for a glorified stripper. For an actor. For _The Reaper,_ a horrible stage name that fits his tattoos in all the wrong ways, clearly tacked on after the fact. Kid wants to run his fingers along the smooth trails of ink— wants to run his tongue along them, taste their meaning. But he hasn’t paid for the goods, yet. “So what’s the catch?”

“Does a private show have to have a catch?” Reaper chuckles. “You pay, I make it worth it.”

 _“Worth it_ would be getting to fuck you.”

“Now now, there are rules to these sorts of places.” The chastisement is weak at best, his eyes betraying interest. “I’m sure what I have in mind won’t disappoint.”

He stands off the bar stool, still a few inches shorter than Kid even in his heels. He doesn’t so much as glance back and Kid slams down money at the bar, recognizing that he’s being silently ordered to follow. He’s interested, if nothing else, following with a wolfish grin.

Just as good as a public show, really; he can feel the jealous eyes of the crowd watching them go.

The door he’s lead to only has a _4_ on it, revealing a small room inside. Nice hardwood floor with rugs strewn about, a nice couch and not much else. Fitting, he guesses, considering not much else goes on in these rooms. “Aw, and here I thought you were taking me back to your room,” Kid pouts.

“This _is_ my room,” Reaper shrugs. It’s quieter here than out in the club, though the lights are still dim. “For as long as it’s convenient.” He guides Kid to the couch and has to swat away the hands that reach for his thighs as he settles on Kid’s lap, gaze turning harsh. “No touching.”

“I’m already disappointed then,” Kid groans. “Can’t say you’re living up to your promises,  _Reaper,”_ he scoffs. “You got a real name I should be using, or were your parents seriously that shitty at naming you?”

Reaper— _Law—_ considers it only for a moment. Microphones or no, he’s not keen on giving out a name to a customer, even a first name, and if he’s going to give a fake one then he may as well stick with his assigned name. He’s almost fond of it, anyway, cliché as it may be.

“My name is hardly any of your business. Call me whatever you want.” Law draws one hand up Kid’s throat, feels the way he swallows, uses two fingers to tilt his chin up. “Just keep your hands to yourself for now.”

 _For now,_ he says, and Kid latches onto it, grinning. “Do I get a reward if I’m good?”

“Maybe,” Law smirks, fingers toying with the zipper of his hoodie. Kid can make out the letters, now— _D E A T H_ inked on the knuckles and the stage name makes a little more sense. Then he’s grinding his hips as he rolls his shoulders back to shrug the jacket off entirely and Kid has better things to think about, like the way he can feel strength in the man’s legs as he works, firm ass pressing down against him.

Kid spreads his legs open wide, resting his arms outstretched on the back of the couch, and lets himself relax, eyes roaming. “You sure like your ink.”

“Most people seem to appreciate it as well,” Law hums, drawing his hands along the smooth lines, lingering around his nipples before drawing the blunt of his nails across his chest, back arching.

“Sensitive?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

That cocky smirk does as much to excite Kid as the rhythmic pace the dancer sets, tattooed hands splaying on his chest as Law leans in, breath against his ear. “There’s cameras in all the private rooms,” he murmurs. “Security purposes.”

Kid, to his credit, has the sense to cover his mouth before he speaks, looking for all the world like he could simply be covering a moan. “No mics?”

“Only if they’re turned on by the alarm trigger.” Law’s smile is positively devious when he leans back, palming his own ass and grinding down harder on Kid’s bulge, biting his lip again at the pressure.

He practically drapes himself on Kid’s front after a few more rolls of his hips, those lips once again at his ear. “The bathrooms, however…”

“No cameras,” Kid fills in, tucking his face into the crook of Law’s neck and barely resisting the urge to leave a mark there before he pulls away.

“Smart boy.”

He stands, then, and Kid thinks they’re leaving _now_ but Law pushes him back down with a hand on his chest, tattooed fingers digging in like claws. “Now now, who said you could get up just yet? I wouldn’t be doing my job very well if you could leave here half-hard.”

“Appetizer before the feast, huh? Shoulda known you’d be a goddamn tease,” Kid grumbles, though he sits down regardless. He can be a little patient if he’ll get what he wants, and he’s certainly not going to protest much when the thing he wants has quite literally walked right up and offered itself.

“Well, teasing is my job,” Law drawls, smirk on his lips as he drags his shorts off achingly slow. The lace there leaves little to the imagination and _oh,_ the bulge most certainly is real, outline visible beneath the opaque fabric. No way in hell that’s just a packer, not with the way Kid can see it starting to swell.

“Not immune to it yourself though,” Kid grins right back. “Gonna make it worth it for both of us, then?”

“The customer is _always_ my first priority,” Law says, saccharine sweetness dripping off the words at odds with the disparaging expression on his face. Kid’s chuckle is quickly drowned into a groan as Law settles back down into his lap, shorts tossed somewhere to the side. “Just try not to make a fool of yourself too soon, hm?”

“Takes more than a pretty face to get me off,” Kid challenges, relaxing back against the couch. “How ‘bout you just try and do your best, _Reaper?”_

Law smirks, predatory smugness in every inch of his curved lips. “Gladly.”

 

//

 

_Christ._

It’s not suspicious to anyone when Kid heads immediately for the bathroom after their private show is over— almost every client with enough self-restraint to avoid finishing in their pants ends up escaping to the stalls to relieve themselves, so the bouncers never so much as bat an eye. The idea is pretty damn tempting, too; Kid is so hard it _aches,_ the past half hour of teasing having nearly driven him mad.

But he wants to believe that the other man will keep his word and follow, even if he’s got no real reason to believe the performer. It could have all been a very elaborate act to get Kid’s money, but then, there’s always something honest about lust and those hungry eyes had it in spades. The way Reaper moved, _shit._ Kid can’t help pacing the short space available in the bathroom, all the stalls currently empty but impatient energy flooding his veins.

When the door swings open, Kid's got Law pinned to the wall the second he makes it through the doorway and gets a hand wrapped around his throat for his troubles, silver eyes glaring at him. “Lips anywhere but on mine,” Law orders flatly. “And no marks.”

“Aw,” Kid pouts, the teasing expression ruined by the chuckle that accompanies it. “And here I thought we were gonna get romantic in the stalls.”

“Neither of us came here for romance.” There’s almost amusement in his tone as he tilts his head up, grip on Kid’s throat loosening as he drags his fingertips to the man’s chin. “Though I can certainly play the role of inexperienced virgin, if that’s what you’re into,” Law drawls, batting his eyes exaggeratedly.

“Think you already gave yourself away,” Kid snorts. “You charge extra for that cringey act?”

“Hardly any need to when everyone is always lining up with their wallets, desperate for anything.” His smile turns wry, tone nearly bitter. “The illusion of intimacy sells better than the real thing.”

Kid shrugs, taking the words for what they are. “Lucky for you then, I don’t care for that shit.”

“Very lucky for me,” Law murmurs. He all but shoves Kid into the stall, locking it behind them as a precaution against anyone else who comes in— people fucking in the club bathrooms isn’t so uncommon, he just needs to make sure no one sees him specifically. Besides, this bathroom isn’t as close to the bar as the others. If he’s lucky, no one will interfere at all.

Still, the stalls are small for one person, positively cramped with two; Kid is pressed up against him and he presses back into the broad chest, large hands wasting no time skimming his tanned flesh. “Lucky for me too,” Kid chuckles, mouthing at Law’s neck. “This is _way_ more my style than just lookin’ at you up on that stage. You usually fuck the customers or did you pick me for a different reason?”

Law twists just enough to get his hands on Kid’s belt, deft fingers tugging it loose to let it clatter on the floor. “Certainly not for the conversation.”

“Guess I’ll just consider you my birthday wish come true then,” Kid shrugs. “I’m sure as hell not gonna complain.”

Law is almost tempted to ask; birthday wish, really? Either that’s the shittiest one-liner he’s ever heard or the man is telling the truth, which makes this the weirdest place to celebrate, but he barely gets one word out before Kid is shoving a hand down his shorts without even bothering to unbutton them. Thick fingers wrap around his half-hard length with no finesse but plenty of size to make up for it, pushing Law against the stall door and absolutely crowding him the way he loves it.

“Impatient, aren’t you,” Law gasps out, drawling voice finally interrupted by desire. Kid maneuvers them so that Law’s facing the stall, ass in plain view and he wastes no time grinding against it, fingers of his free hand fumbling with the zipper of his jeans. It’s an odd time to think about it but there’s a lot of practicality to the shorts Law wears, making for much easier removal for things precisely like this.

Oh. Like _this._

 _“Shit,”_ Kid realizes, a bit too late. “Please tell me you have some fucking lube. Ain’t above making you scream, but not for _that_ reason.”

“No, I came in here completely expecting to be fucked dry,” Law deadpans, casting a withering glance over his shoulder. The expression falters when Kid strokes just a bit too hard, grinds his thumb down against the tip of Law’s cock on purpose, but he holds himself together pretty damn impressively. “Back pockets.”

“Sassy bitch, aren’t you,” Kid chuckles under his breath. He can appreciate someone who can bite back; exactly the type he expected the man to be. He pulls his hand out of Law’s shorts to reach into the spotted back pockets, pulling out a sealed condom and several little foil packets of lube. “The hell? These’re like the kinda shit you get at the hospital— you’re really tryin’ _that_ hard for an aesthetic here, huh, Reaper?”

“The image sells,” Law shrugs. “Now are you going to fuck me or critique my business persona all night?”

“Who says I can’t do both?” Kid mutters, roughly yanking the shorts and lacy underwear down to grab a fistful of the firm ass that’s been haunting him all night. “Critique all I want when I got such goods in front of me.”

“Really now, cheesy lines? I hadn’t taken you as the type.”

“And just what type did you take me for?”

“Quieter, for one thing,” Law snarks, but he’s more amused than sarcastic and Kid is mildly proud that he’s clearly won some points in his favor so far.

The foil packet tears open cleanly and Kid expects he’ll win more by the time the night is over if Law’s response is anything to go by, the dancer eagerly pressing back when a slick finger presses against his entrance. Kid works it in easily, palm of his hand resting on the curve of Law’s ass as he squeezes in a second finger on just the edge of too soon, a slight burn accompanying the stretch, just enough pain to make Law hiss through the pleasure.

 _Exactly_ the kind of lay they’ve both been looking for; quick, easy, and blessedly rough. Kid can’t see Law’s cock from this angle but it was pretty decent from what he felt and if it’s anything like his own it’s no doubt throbbing, insistently demanding attention that they’re both denied for now. Kid scissors his fingers apart, slick sounds filling the stall accompanied only by Law’s harsh, quiet breaths.

“God, you’re so fucking hungry for it, look at you,” Kid murmurs. He doesn’t mean for the words to slip out quite so much like praise— it’s a quick fuck in a bathroom stall, not a lover he’s taken to bed— but Law arches his back and his breath hitches at the tone and Kid notices, low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Oh? Looks like you might like ‘em mouthy afterall, Doc.”

“Be quiet already, you—”

“Eustass,” Kid cuts in.

Law pauses, turns that questioning grey gaze back at him. “You might have a thing about privacy, but never said I gotta keep my name a secret,” Kid shrugs, pushing up Law’s hoodie to rest his hand against that tan skin, fingers brushing the edge of a tattoo as he continues to work slick fingers in and out. “It’s Eustass. And I wanna hear you _scream_ it.”

The curious look eases, a flicker of hesitance on Law’s expression before it settles back into something smug. “You’ll have to do your best to make me then, _Eustass.”_

Kid’s grin is practically feral, giving one last curl of his fingers before he slides them out and tears open the condom packet with his teeth, shoving down his own pants and rolling on the protection with hurried movements, giving himself a few welcomed strokes to slick up. He falters when he sees Law’s wide-eyed stare fixed on his cock, jaw clenching in reflexive agitation.

He’s not exactly on the small side— it wouldn’t be the first time he’s had a partner back out once they’ve realized just how big he is, but fucking hell, he’s not going to be happy about getting blue balled after all the fucking _buildup_ to this.

Law doesn’t give him a chance to complain though, pushing back insistently with lips parted on a hungry gasp and the agitation dissipates when Kid realizes it’s not fear in his eyes but _anticipation._ The knowledge comes with smugness attached, Kid brushing against Law’s ass teasingly. “Want something?”

“The same thing _you_ want,” Law sneers. Oh, he doesn’t dislike that sort of defiance, not at all; it just makes it more fun.

“I dunno, I’d be fine with just jacking off right now,” Kid drawls. It’s only half a lie, anyway. “Pretty white cum all over your back— that gonna satisfy you too, Doc?”

“Don’t you fucking _dare,”_ Law snarls. “I brought you in here to _fuck me,_ so get on with it already before I change my mind.”

“That isn’t how we ask for what we want,” Kid says, voice dipping low and commanding. He brings one hand up to Law’s hair and threads it in the strands there, tugs a little to force their eye contact. “Maybe if you ask more nicely…”

 _“Fuck me,”_ Law demands. Kid slides his cock in between Law’s thighs, brushes against the underside of the man’s own cock and listens to the way Law’s breath hitches, sees the way his eyes dilate in want.

There’s nothing but silent staring between them as he repeats the motion, just quiet _slick_ sounds and Law’s faltering resolve. Kid uses the thumb of his free hand to press against Law’s hole, tightening his grip on Law’s hair just enough to be painful.

By the fifth thrust, Law bites his lip, but his glare never falters. Kid slips his thumb inside, angles his hips to press harder. “Ask _nicely.”_ Seventh, eighth— Law’s breath comes heavier, and Kid himself is loving every second of seeing the reserved man come undone, bratty attitude unravelling under the sheer force of desire.

A minute or an hour more, when they’ve both more than lost track of time, Law squeezes his eyes shut as he turns his head away, “Fuck me _please”_ escaping his lips. Kid leans over him until they’re almost touching, breaths mingling just inches apart.

“I have a name,” Kid growls.

“Fuck yo— _ah—!”_ Law gasps as Kid yanks his hair, sending a jolt of pain that flushes his spine with heat and pushes him over the edge of desperation. “Please, _Eustass!”_

“That’s more like it,” Kid grins, leaning back and lining himself up to slip inside Law in one swift movement, grunting at the sudden tight warmth as Law arches back, mouth hanging open on a soundless moan at the sensation of finally being _filled._

Kid doesn’t give Law time to adjust, rough pacing leaving him gasping while Kid palms his ass, spreading him open to slide in deeper, slick sounds of skin on skin echoing in the stall. It’s fast and hard and _fantastic,_ Kid’s nails teetering on the edge of leaving marks, soft crescents digging into skin and for all that Law objected at the start he’s pressing up into the bite of it now, body betraying a desire that he denies— or at least, that workplace policy won’t allow.

The thought nearly jolts Kid out of it; he'd just about forgotten that anyone could come in here, but the stall is closed anyway and no one would be surprised to hear people fucking. No one would know it’s their pretty eye-candy Reaper, that he got what everyone else wanted. The thought makes him groan out loud, sliding a hand up to cup Law’s throat from behind, thumb sweeping over his parted lips. “Bet you moan like this for anyone who’s willing, huh?”

“Want me to say you’re _special?”_ Law scoffs, any harshness to the words ruined by the blush resting high on his cheekbones and the obvious thrusting of his hips to meet every push.

“Nah,” Kid chuckles, pulling his hand back to lightly scratch his nails over Law’s back tattoo. “I _know_ I am. Not the first or any bullshit like that, but you had a whole crowd of people out there wanting you and _I’m_ the one who gets _this.”_ Kid accentuates the word by grabbing Law’s arms, using them as leverage for his thrusts and effectively preventing Law from touching himself. “I get to fuck you, not any of them. How d’you think they’d like to see this?”

“They’d _pay_ to see this,” Law huffs, little raspy moans on the edge of every breath. He’s dripping precum onto the floor, body flushed with heat and want and the throbbing need to touch himself at war with how good it feels to be restrained like this, rough pressure on his shoulders every time Kid thoughtlessly yanks his arms.

“Bet they would,” Kid drawls. Law got off to his voice more than he'll admit and Kid knows it, wants to take advantage of it, wants to make the dancer squirm in every way possible. “Wouldn’t even have to ask anyone to suck your dick, huh? They’d be lining up, and wouldn’t you want that. Someone to suck you off while I fuck you raw— sound good, Doc?”

He doesn’t give a response right away, traitorous mind getting lost in the scenario as his cock twitches at the thought of it, warm lips around him while Kid slams into him and he’s already close, eyes lidded so heavily they’re barely open when Kid leans down to murmur a command. “I asked you a question, _Doctor,”_ and there’s the ghost of teeth biting into his ear and a thin, strained whine escapes his throat as he braces his shoulder against the door and comes untouched onto the tile.

Kid can hardly believe it, thrusts faltering in rhythm as Law clenches hard around him. "Fuck," Kid murmurs, nearly reverent. It isn't long before he follows over the edge, shuddering out a groan and panting hard. There's spots in his vision and he can't remember the last time he came so hard— can't remember the last time he made someone come without having to get them off with his hands or mouth.  _God,_ this one was really something else.

For a few moments they work through motions on autopilot, Kid sliding out with a hiss and tying off the condom while Law puts his shorts back on, both of them still breathing too heavy. It's not awkward, even as Law unlatches the door and steps out, composure almost regained though his face is still a little flushed. Kid's pretty damn sure he looks wrecked at this point, post-orgasm euphoria still making its way through his body and leaving him more content than he's been in awhile. Hard to find a partner who doesn't mind his size and roughness, but  _Reaper_ fit the bill to a T. Despite himself, Kid is already looking forward to a next time.

“So,” Kid says, breaking the silence at last, his voice a pleasure-thick drawl. “Gotta say, that wasn’t on the price chart.”

Law laughs, a quiet, low-pitched noise. Kid realizes it’s the first he’s heard it and it doesn’t sound all too bad. “Why, Mister Eustass,” Law smiles, eyes falsely wide as he pauses at the door and adjusts his hoodie. “It’s prostitution if you pay me for sex, and that’s quite illegal.”

Kid snorts— as if this didn’t violate the company rules already. “The hell would _you_ call a quickie with a customer in the bathroom, then?”

“A birthday present.”

The answer catches him off guard and Law uses the opportunity to slip out the door, satisfied smile still on his face as he goes. Kid is left staring at the bathroom door before he breaks out into a grin of his own, laughter echoing in the small space.

_Damn._

He’s gonna have to thank Killer after all.

**Author's Note:**

> kid's gonna frequent this stripclub now and killer is never gonna stop gloating about how he was right that's the real epilogue here, "killer becomes insufferable"


End file.
